


A Change of Plans

by AnonymousDandelion



Category: Good Omens (Radio), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Banter, Bureaucracy, Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Heaven, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), M/M, Mild emotional hurt/comfort, Paperwork, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Stressed Aziraphale (Good Omens), flufftober outtake, in a bureaucratic way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:21:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27234901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousDandelion/pseuds/AnonymousDandelion
Summary: “Hey, angel. How’s it going?”“Tickety-boo,” Aziraphale lies. “And you?”“Same as ev—” Crowley comes the rest of the way into the back room, then halts, seeing Aziraphale hunched unhappily over his desk. “Hold up. What’s wrong?”~ ~ ~An unexpected notice from Heaven threw off Aziraphale's day — including his and Crowley's dinner plans. Crowley shows up anyway.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 162
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens, Flufftober 2020, Flufftober2020





	A Change of Plans

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I set out to write a 200-word piece for my [Ineffable Flufftober 2020](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1957708) series, and I did succeed in doing so (see link in end notes) — but only after 1400 words of lead-in, which ended up being my fourth accidentally-written fic of the month. So, here we are.

Aziraphale’s antique cuckoo clock announces the hour, and the angel glances up from his desk, heart sinking with the realization that said hour is significantly later than he thought. Crowley is due at the bookshop any minute now to take them out to dinner. This knowledge would not ordinarily be cause for Aziraphale’s heart to sink (quite the opposite, as a matter of fact). Today, however…

The bell above the locked bookshop door jingles, and despite his better judgment and despite the stack of papers sitting ominously on his desk, Aziraphale feels his mood lift, just a little, at the sound of those familiar footsteps. “Come on back,” he calls.

An instant later, Crowley appears, framed in the doorway. “Hey, angel. How’s it going?”

“Tickety-boo,” Aziraphale lies. “And you?”

“Same as ev—” Crowley comes the rest of the way into the back room, then halts, seeing Aziraphale hunched unhappily over his desk. “Hold up. What’s wrong?”

Of course Crowley would see right through Aziraphale, as usual. There’s no real reason (aside from habit) for the facade in this case, though, the angel reminds himself — and he _does_ have to explain. “I don’t know if I can come with you to the restaurant,” he admits, wretchedly. “I’m so sorry, Crowley… I should have called to let you know sooner…”

“Can’t come?” Crowley tenses. “What does _that_ mean? Did something happen? Gabriel—”

“No, no, nothing like that!” Aziraphale hastens to reassure. “Well, yes, something happened, Gabriel in a way, actually, indirectly, but it’s nothing… nothing about _us_. And nothing dangerous. Don’t worry.”

Crowley relaxes fractionally, though he doesn’t appear to properly stop worrying. “What is it, then?”

Aziraphale indicates the papers cluttering his desk. “A surprise report, that’s all.” He attempts a smile. “To keep me on my toes, you know. Heaven sent the notice this morning, and I’ve been working on the paperwork practically non-stop all day, but I still have so many pages left to get through, and they want it all sent back by tomorrow, and…”

“They gave you a _one-day turnaround_ for a report? That’s not a matter of keeping anyone on their toes, that’s ridiculous!” Crowley bristles, and Aziraphale can’t help feeling somehow warmed by the demon’s outrage on his behalf. Not that he could ever admit to it, but there _is_ something oddly pleasant about the knowledge that someone else cares enough to be outraged at the things Aziraphale can’t afford to let himself consider being outraged by.

“Well, er. Not exactly,” he clarifies. “I _was_ supposed to have had a week’s notice, but evidently someone in Communications forgot to send my copy of the letter down — they’re terribly busy Up There, you understand, and I fear they’re not very accustomed to the process of sending things to Earth — and someone only just found out the mistake today.”

“So you’re saying _they_ messed up, and now they won’t even give you a deadline extension?” Crowley demands.

Aziraphale sighs. “I didn’t think to ask for an extension, I’m afraid.” This is, technically, true; he didn’t think of it because he knew there would have been no point to it. “At any rate, by the time the request would have been processed and approved or denied, it would have been too late and I would have missed the deadline anyway. So it would only have been a waste of time and effort.”

The demon’s indignation is palpable. “Right. And what would the great and holy celestial record-keepers have done if you’d been out of the office and didn’t see their little note? Or been _busy_? Or—”

“Or had dinner plans with my adversary?” Aziraphale finishes the sentence guiltily, certain he knows what’s on the demon’s mind. ”I know, I know, I’m _sorry,_ Crowley, really I am, but I just don’t see how else I can possibly get this ready to submit in time, and if I don’t get it in… oh, but I do feel perfectly abominable about it, and I know you must have been looking forward to—”

Crowley emits a truly spectacular groan. “That is not my point, angel. I’m not upset with _you_. You know that, right?”

“Oh.” Aziraphale doesn’t answer the question, but his pause, however brief, probably speaks for itself. “I’m glad of that, then. I _am_ still sorry, though.”

“Not your fault Heaven is a bunch of bureaucratic wankers screwing you over.”

“Don’t say that,” Aziraphale scolds automatically, though without much in the way of ire. “I am quite certain it was not an intentional error. Heaven would never do such a thing on purpose.”

Crowley rolls his eyes in that characteristic way of his, apparent even while wearing sunglasses. “Eh, I wouldn’t put it past Michael. Not sure it’s much of an improvement, though, even if just average incompetence. Same end result either way.”

“They—” Aziraphale cuts off and shakes his head, deciding it isn’t worth pursuing the issue.

“Bureaucratic wankers,” Crowley concludes, sounding rather pleased with himself.

Aziraphale looks pointedly at his desk. “Well. Anyhow. The crux of the matter is that I have quite a lot of paperwork to get done.”

Crowley nods, head tipped slightly to one side. Then, speaking in such an excessively casual manner as to make Aziraphale question whether the question is casual at all, Crowley asks, “D’you want me to leave?

 _Oh dear._ Aziraphale swallows as the real reason he didn’t call Crowley to cancel their dinner plans abruptly hits him. Not because Aziraphale was hoping to get his report done earlier in the day and still be able to go out after all, not because he lost track of time while working — although both of these things are certainly true as well — but because, selfishly, even with dinner out of the picture, Aziraphale _wanted_ to see the demon. Oh dear, oh dear.

“I’m afraid I’d be a dreadful host tonight,” he equivocates.

Crowley shifts position. “I don’t need to be hosted. I could just keep you company.”

“But I’d be terribly dull company for you, even worse than usual. You’d be bored. I wouldn’t want to spoil your evening… more than I already have, that is…”

Crowley takes his sunglasses off in one quick, practiced motion, pinning Aziraphale to his seat with those vivid golden eyes. “You haven’t spoiled my evening, Aziraphale. I don’t care about the stupid restaurant, we can go another day if you want, or not, whatever. And I wouldn’t be bored. I could literally sit on your sofa and stare at you doing paperwork for eight hours straight and not be bored. That’s not what I asked. I said, do you want me to leave?”

Aziraphale opens his mouth, and fails to find an answer.

“If you want to do your paperwork alone, that’s fine. I’ll go away and let you be. But don’t try and tell me _I’ll_ be bored. Do you _want_ me to leave? No, I mean, do _you_ want me to leave?”

Aziraphale looks at Crowley. He looks at his desk, piled with papers. He looks back at Crowley, slouching against the wall and yet, improbably, simultaneously managing to convey tension and alertness in the extreme.

Honesty is a virtue, Aziraphale tells himself, and somehow finds the courage to answer, “No.”

Crowley’s overly relaxed smile fades into a much more authentically relaxed variation of the expression, and the demon sashays over to the sofa that Aziraphale has long thought of as Crowley’s. “I’ll just sit and stare at you doing paperwork, then. Unless you decide you want me to do something else.”

“Fiend.”

Crowley flops onto the sofa, smirking. “What?”

“You could at least talk to me.”

“I _am_ talking to you. What do you think this is? Keeping you from your Heavenly responsibilities, I am. Behold my wiles.”

“Hmph. Am I thwarting you, by talking back?”

“Nope. Playing right into my evil plans.”

“Ah. In that case, I suppose I had better get back to that report.”

Aziraphale does so. The quiet, previously broken only by the sound of a scratching pen and rustling papers, is now occasionally punctuated by a comment from the sofa. Every time the angel looks up, Crowley is still watching him — exaggeratedly attentive, yet genuinely supportive.

Aziraphale shakes his head in amusement, and returns his attention to his paperwork. The stack of yet-to-be-completed pages still isn’t exactly _pleasant_ to contemplate, but it doesn’t look quite so insurmountable as it did before.

**Author's Note:**

> Wondering how this evening is actually going to go? For a followup scene, see [Teamwork and Paperwork](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27235162).
> 
> As ever, any comments or kudos are always greatly appreciated — I hope you enjoyed this!


End file.
